Stacy Horn

I love the effort people put into decorating for holidays. This was one of the simplest and also one of my favorites. Creepy, but sad.

Three happy, fez-wearing skeletons on Bleecker Street (which was named after my cat).

I wonder why the manufacturer of that fake tombstone picked the dates 1805 – 1882. Did they have any meaning to him or her? Of course the first thing I did was calculate how long the fake dead person lived (to 77, not bad I suppose, but certainly not great, I hope to make it to my 90s).

Another happy skeleton, hanging out by the trash in the cornfield on 11th Street. And a detached limb. And a spider. Damnit, what else did I miss??

Giant spiders were a recurring theme. The movie Eight Legged Freaks, which is wonderful, has been playing a lot on tv, by the way. As fun as it is, I still have a hard time watching it. Spiders!

Okay, the Tardis crashed into a building on Perry Street. I was never happy with how my pictures of it came out last year, and I was determined to do better this time. This is a slight improvement, but it doesn’t really capture how truly great this is. The thing also glows and smokes, like a Tardis that has just been in an accident might. I’m going with: it’s the camera.

Another view. My photographic abilities aside, thank you whoever did this. It’s awesome.

Where did the last two days go? I actually started writing this post yesterday, when I got back from my dentist appointment. This is a behind-the-scenes view of a photo shoot outside Gramercy Park. I love that shade of blue. I was so influenced by it that when I went to buy an umbrella this morning they had one a shade close to it and I bought that one.

So what is the deal with the storm? I haven’t listened to the news since this morning. Should I panic shop? Or should I worry more about Cara and our other friends further south?

Halloween is around the corner and so I must confront my yearly dilemma: rejoin the world of the living and drum in the Halloween Parade, or stay home, happily curled up on the couch with my cats, and watch scary movies? This is my band drumming in the Parade four years ago.

Every year I fantasize about going out to Long Island to one of my family member’s houses, if they’ll let me, so I can give out Halloween candy. We don’t get trick or treaters in the city and I have always missed filling up the bags of little kids having the time of their lives, knowing how later in the evening they’ll be emptying everything out, surveying their loot, sorting out the good from the bad. But then I realize this fun will be offset by one of the most depressing things in the world, that trip back into the city, on those dismal trains, pulling into that dismal station, and waiting for the subway which always seems to take the longest when one has just gotten off the Long Island Railroad and desperately needs to get back home to un-do all the dark, dank, dismalality (yes, I just made up that word).

Part of my decision rests on my bone graft recovery, which is mostly going well, except I still look bad. I’d convinced myself that the swelling had gone down enough that it wasn’t noticeable, but when I went to choir last night my friend Barbara immediately gave me the Look of Sympathy and said, “oh” in poor-you voice.

Bleecker Street, in-between a couple of Marc Jacobs stores.

I need to get out of the house, regardless of how scary I look. Maybe I’ll just go to a movie, where I’ll spend most of the time in the dark. Being cooped up, unable to swim or do anything is making me depressed. The medication may be contributing.

The question is: will I make it to choir practice tomorrow? Physically, I feel up to it. I can’t sing very well, the skin inside my mouth is tight from the surgery and I seem to have acquired a lisp, but going to rehearsal will be helpful regardless, I’ll still learn. Except I continue to look like something out of a horror movie, like that thing in the basement that makes everyone scream, “don’t go down there!” I honestly don’t think I can bear people seeing me like this. What’s worse, I’m sure no one cares. If anything they’ll think, “poor you!”

Is this who I am? Will I miss something I love to do, something that will make me feel a lot better, at a time when I really need to feel better, because I don’t want anyone to see me when I look this bad? I never would have thought so, but I’m definitely on the fence about going.

Before I forget, WIRED has begun a series that looks amazing: The Decades That Invented the Future. It’s on my to-read list.

And speaking of depressed, I should probably not watch the debate tonight. I don’t think I’m emotionally strong enough.

The curl-up below lasted about two seconds. Then Finney woke up. The problem is, the kitten spends all day attacking Finney, so by the time he is ready to cuddle up and rest Finney is all, “Die, kitten, die.” I was so hoping to see them curl up together like this it almost made me cry. Unfortunately, this scene hasn’t been repeated since.

One of the oldest members of Echo, (an online service I started in 1990) and one of the sweetest, died yesterday, of acute myeloid leukemia. Danny was a very social guy, and he came to every gathering, party or event, and he was always smiling. The guy didn’t have a mean bone in his body. I thought he was getting better, a lot of people did. We now think he just didn’t want to worry or upset us. I will always be grateful for all he did for me and for Echo. He liked the place and he did what he could to make it better, welcoming new users and hosting a conference on Echo. A lot of people said that his smiling, friendly face was the first they met after joining Echo.

I scanned and posted some pictures of him on Facebook and this seems to be the one people who knew him liked most. It’s slightly out of focus, but it captures his smile. Rest in Peace, Danny. I’m sorry this happened to you too too soon. This has got to be one of the biggest understatements that can ever be uttered but: life is so unfair sometimes. And fuck cancer.